


a hazy shade of winter

by blackkat



Series: Quinlan drabbles [1]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Families of Choice, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Winter, brief mention of Obi-Wan Kenobi/Siri Tachi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28068489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: This shirt is a little breezier than Quinlan remembers.
Relationships: Aayla Secura & Quinlan Vos, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Quinlan Vos
Series: Quinlan drabbles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2056128
Comments: 24
Kudos: 426





	a hazy shade of winter

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: That Ahsoka stealing socks to cover her Lekku gave me an adorable idea and I have to share. The reason Quinlan doesn't wear sleeves isn't out of preference but because as a padawan Aayla would steal the sleeves to make Lekku stockings whenever she got cold, after a point Quinlan got used to going sleeveless and makes a point to still send Aayla all his sleeves as a joke.

This shirt is a little breezier than Quinlan remembers.

Entirely suspicious, Quinlan stops short, his head halfway into his shirt, one hand though the sleeve, and assesses. Carefully, already suspecting what he’ll feel, Quinlan waves a hand where it’s wedged through the armhole–

And encounters nothing.

With a groan, Quinlan jerks his shirt on the rest of the way, wrenching it into place and then raising his arms in resigned disbelief. The sleeves are gone. They’ve been neatly, deliberately chopped off right at the shoulder, and the culprit couldn’t even be bothered to unravel the seams.

He _liked_ this sweater. It was _warm_. And now, apparently, it’s going to go to join Quinlan’s growing collection of sleeveless shirts, which always invite _massive_ amounts of teasing from Luminara and Obi-Wan both. It’s not like Quinlan always _wants_ to wander around with his arms bare–he’s got nice biceps, and the _qukuuf_ are flashy, but he gets _cold_. Even he’s not impervious to winter weather.

There's always a suspicious increase in the number of his shirt-sleeves that get stolen in the winter months, too.

A little irritated, Quinlan shoves his hair free of the collar, deliberately closes his closet, and spends about four seconds debating the practicality of getting a padlock before he gives up on the idea. No jedi has ever been stopped by a padlock, ever, and he’s not willing to test the structural integrity of the door to someone who can't even be bothered to take out a seam. Instead of trying to lock the thing, he just leaves it, turning on his heel and stalking out into the living room with a comment about living in rags waiting on his tongue.

Empty. Of course.

With a groan, Quinlan grabs his lightsaber, then checks his comm. No messages, so he heads for the door, ready to hunt down–

He collides with a very familiar body in the hall, and Jedi reflexes or no, there's no saving either of them. Quinlan yelps, overbalancing as their legs tangle, and his victim yelps too, grabs his arm, and Quinlan gets one half-second flash of something he _really_ didn’t want to know about Siri when they have a mission together in three days, a head full of swearing, and then a face-full of brown robes as he lands squarely on top of just about the last person he wants to see right now.

“ _Force_ ,” Obi-Wan wheezes, like he wasn’t waiting outside Quinlan’s quarters to ambush him. A hand shoves at Quinlan’s face, and he makes a sound of complete and utter aggravation as he peels himself off of Obi-Wan’s chest.

“Why are you _lurking_?” Quinlan demands, levering himself up. “Stop standing in doorways, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan splutters, sitting up, and the patchwork peach fuzz he’s attempting to turn into a beard seems to bristle. “I was not _lurking_ , I was attempting to _knock_ , but you _assaulted_ me before I could manage…” He trails off, blinking, and then frowns. “Quinlan. Isn't that the sweater I gave you last year?”

With a groan, Quinlan sits back on his heels. “Don’t start,” he warns.

Obi-Wan coughs, putting up a hand to hide his growing smirk. “That cold already, is it?”

“ _Don’t start_ ,” Quinlan repeats, and gets to his feet, ignoring the chilly draft he can feel through the shorn armholes. Because he’s fundamentally a nicer person than Obi-Wan will ever be, he offers the smirking bastard a hand, and Obi-Wan takes it.

Of course, Quinlan’s also his best friend, so he pulls Obi-Wan halfway up, then says, “Whoops,” very loudly and insincerely, and drops him back on his ass.

Obi-Wan, of course, just rolls his eyes at him and gets up on his own. “How mature,” he says pointedly, smoothing down his robes. “Almost as mature as mutilating the gift I worked so hard to bring back from the Gallus sector, Quinlan, I'm hurt.”

“Don’t blame _me_ ,” Quinlan retorts. “I'm not chopping off all of my sleeves in the dead of winter for _fun_.”

“Really?” Obi-Wan drawls, and that’s _absolutely_ a smirk. “One would say it’s getting to be something of a trend with you, Quinlan.”

Quinlan gives him a dirty look and doesn’t deign to respond. “Well?”

Obi-Wan snickers. “The study hall, I believe,” he says, and Quinlan immediately turns on his heel and heads in that direction. Radiating amusement, Obi-Wan follows, and asks, “What precisely are you planning to do? Going by your past record, you're going to fold like wet flimsy the moment she smiles at you.”

Quinlan ignores that, because he’s in the middle of a cloud of righteous indignation and won't be swayed by logic. The study room is just ahead of them, and he waves the door open, then stalks in.

The huddle of padawans by the window is a little nostalgic–Quinlan remembers way too many study sessions that he and Obi-Wan had to drag Luminara into, days of preparing for tests and classes and their turns teaching initiates, and the fact that this group is Human and Twi’lek instead of Human, Kiffar, and Mirialan doesn’t change that.

Still. Quinlan isn't here to feel squishy about how far he, Obi-Wan, and Luminara have come. He’s here to inflict punishment and warn off _remorseless thieves_ , and he’s not going to let anything stop him.

“Padawans,” he says pointedly, and watches three heads snap up. Anakin has tally marks on his cheek, which Quinlan very definitely isn't going to ask about, and Tae has the dazed, mildly bludgeoned look of a student with an important test coming up. And–

“Master!” Aayla says brightly, waving to him. She’s wrapped up in her warmest robe, a blanket tossed over her and Anakin's laps, and there are a pair of ruthlessly severed red sleeves tucked under her headwrap, covering her lekku. The ends have been knotted neatly, to keep the draft out, and she looks perfectly cozy and also entirely unrepentant.

“Aayla,” Quinlan returns, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is there something you wanted to say to me?”

Aayla blinks at him with big, innocent eyes. “We’re almost done here, Master. I should be back in plenty of time for training this afternoon. And it should be warmer by then!”

That smile is a weapon. It’s a _lethal_ weapon, and she aims it right at Quinlan without hesitation.

Horrifyingly, Quinlan feels himself crumpling. Aayla didn’t come to the Temple until later than most children. She’s used to Ryloth, which is a hot, dry planet, and Coruscant's snowy winters aren’t precisely comfortable for her. Lekku are all nerve tissue, and sensitive, and–

Obi-Wan is laughing at him. He’s not even trying to hide it.

“Make sure you're not late,” Quinlan says with all the dignity remaining to him, then turns on his heel and stalks out, grabbing Obi-Wan on his way and dragging him along.

Even if he can't take Aayla to task for stealing his sleeves, he can at least push Obi-Wan into a fountain and feel better about himself.


End file.
